


Morning's Judgment

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr and Alayne and Sansa break their fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning's Judgment

“And what shall we do with him, Alayne?”

Petyr asks her this as he slices into the morning’s fruit. The sound the knife makes as it cuts into the soft flesh seems to fill the cold room and she finds it difficult to focus on anything else. These days, she finds she operates best when she has one, tangible thing to make the center of her attention.

She knows what he’s speaking of. One of the knights in his employ had thought to improve his position by giving the Lords Declarant what they wanted; namely, for the Lord Protector to be gone. His scheme had been rather clumsy though--even she had to admit that--and now the man is wailing in a sky cell while he awaits Petyr’s judgment. Their judgment, as she was just now realizing.

Alayne counts backwards from ten and sets her shoulders so that she sits a bit straighter in her chair, the way Alayne always sits. She’s gotten easier at being this bastard girl, but it’s always the most difficult in the mornings. The North lingers on the edges of her dreams, even moreso now that winter has arrived, and when she wakes she finds that it is difficult to fully ground herself in this strange reality.

So she focuses on things—sights, smells, sounds—and hopes that these are enough to keep her from drifting away.

He stops cutting into the fruit so she shifts her focus to his words, though their implication displeases her. She knows what needs to be done, and she feels distaste at the idea.

She shakes her head, trying to get some of the fog to disperse. “Do what you feel is best, my Lord.”

He smirks at her and eats a segment of orange (small, the last they’ll probably see for a long time) off the point of his knife. “If I didn’t want your opinion, I wouldn’t ask, would I? Now,” he resumes paring the fruit, gray-green eyes not leaving the movement of the knife. “What does _Alayne_ think we should do?”

She knows what should be done, and what’s more she knows he does as well. But he’s going to make her say it. Her mouth has difficulty forming the words; they don’t quite feel right. She takes a long drink from her too hot tea in an effort to have something to do. The liquid burns the roof of her mouth and she lingers on the pain, focusing on that. The silence is oppressive but Petyr keeps eating away at the fruit, smirking as he watches her every movement.

 _Sansa would let him go,_ she thinks. _She was kind and good._

And all she got in return was pain and misery.

She meets his eyes. “What would he have done to me?”

Petyr shrugs, but he’s clearly pleased at this response. “Who can say? But it might throw your position into question if I were to suddenly wind up on the rocks below.” He fingers his knife, and his smile turns wicked. “You may still need me alive, sweetling.”

He does have a point, as horrible as it is to admit it. The knight would have no reason to believe she was Sansa Stark, and with each passing day it’s becoming more difficult to believe that herself (she wonders, sometimes, if she can ever slip back into that skin again. The thought keeps her up at night). And what would a bastard girl be to him?

 _Sansa would get down on her knees and plead for his life, though it may cost her her own. That’s what always happens in the songs._

“Let him fall,” she says and the words are so quiet she wonders if he can hear her. She feels a chill run through her but the sensation is strangely exhilarating. It’s the decisiveness, she thinks, that makes her feel this way. Alayne is cold and decisive and alive. And the more she embraces that the stronger she becomes.

Petyr eats the last segment of the orange, savors it. “Good. It’s settled then.” He sets his knife down and goes about the meal as though nothing occurred.

It is as though she had been drowning, struggling for air, and she can suddenly breathe freely again. Alayne feels herself unclench, relaxing muscles she had not even realized were tense. She resumes her own meal with a ravenous appetite.


End file.
